Wicked Game
by rightxhere
Summary: A 'what if' story revolving around the idea that Sansa was stolen by her aunt when she was a baby and raised her in the Vale as Alayne Arryn. TyrionSansa fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Wicked Game - 1/?  
**Author:** Demelza  
**Disclaimer:** Game of Thrones and its characters belong to GRRM and HBO. I'm just borrowing them here for a little while. No infringements of any copyrights are intended.  
**Genre:** AU  
**Pairing:** Tyrion/Sansa  
**Rating:** O15  
**Warnings:** Not in this chapter  
**Summary:** A 'what if' story revolving around the idea that Sansa was stolen by her aunt when she was a baby and raised in the Vale as Alayne Arryn.  
**Author's Note:** Beta'd by me. Mistakes are mine. *g*

\/

Even as Catelyn Stark spoke, Tyrion couldn't keep his eyes off the striking young woman standing opposite them. He'd been mesmerized by Alayne Arryn the moment she sauntered down the great steps and greeted him by name. Though the girl's hair was a shade darker than her aunt's, he was caught by surprise at the startling resemblance between the two. If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn she was the daughter Catelyn and Eddard Stark had lost in the hours after her birth.

"Will you help me?"

Tyrion blinked and looked up at Lady Stark. It perplexed him that she thought he was capable of such a vile crime as trying to murder her son. _Yes, I'm a Lannister. But harming a child? I am not my father, nor am I my vicious cunt of a sister!_

"My mother specifically wrote to you," Alayne finally spoke, breaking Tyrion away from his thoughts. He watched as she began to step around the Moon Door. "She warned you to keep your distance from the Lannisters."

"Yes, I know-"

"And now..." Alayne motioned to the room with her right arm, "...you bring one into her house."

It was hard for Tyrion to read her. She had the grace and poise of a Lady, but there was something in her calculating gaze that indicated she cared less about power than he'd have expected from any child of Lysa Arryn's. More specifically, one raised under the tutelage of Lord Petyr Baelish.

_She really is her mother's daughter, _Tyrion thought with an inward chuckle.

"Tell me, what do you expect by bringing him here?"

"As I explained, I want _justice_ for my son."

The irritability in Catelyn's voice was thick, and it made Tyrion smirk.

Alayne's steps slowed as she appraised Tyrion. "And you believe this... man... is the one responsible?" Her gaze lingered on his for a beat, before shifting back to her aunt.

"A dagger belonging to him was found on the man sent to assassinate my son, so yes, _I do_," Catelyn replied.

Alayne stopped in front of Tyrion. "The_ Imp,_" she said with strong emphasis, as if wanting to sound the term aloud.

"Yes, the Imp," Tyrion acknowledged, letting out a low growl. "An _innocent_ one at that. "

"Innocent?" Alayne chuckled. "If the rumours are to be believed, you... Tyrion Lannister... are _anything_ but innocent." Biting her lower lip, her gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth for a moment. She smiled at him. "_I_ hear that you're a pervert."

Though he narrowed his eyes, Tyrion couldn't help the smirk spreading across his lips. _She's toying with me. _"Well, I am the Imp," he said, "I have certain standards to maintain."

"Hmmm."

It was then that Catelyn Stark let out a frustrated growl, "Will you aide me in getting justice for your cousin, or won't you?" she demanded of the girl.

Alayne kept her focus on Tyrion for a few breath-catching moments longer. Turning to her aunt, she said, "You say the information came from someone in King's Landing, correct?"

"Yes."

"This person... who were they?

"My husband."

Alayne nodded in thought, she was about to speak when her aunt blurted, "Surely you don't presume he had any part of this?"

"Not in the least, but I do wonder who gave him this information."

Catelyn released a frustrated sigh. "It was Lord Petyr Baelish."

The young woman's eyes locked on her aunts.

"Peteyr Baelish?" Alayne finally questioned. She shifted her gaze to Tyrion's. "I wish to speak with Lord Tyrion. Alone."

"He's my prisoner-" Catelyn started, but Alayne raised her hand to silence her aunt.

"And I promise no harm shall come to him."

Alayne snapped her fingers then, "Ser Vardis, my aunt is weary from her travels. Show her to her chambers." She looked at Catelyn for a moment, before turning back to Tyrion. "The rest of you shall give us this place alone."

Tyrion watched out the corner of his eye as Catelyn balked at the suggestion, but soon the movement of feet sounded and the Stark woman was escorted out with the departing guards.

When the doors creaked closed, silence filled the room.

Alayne began to circle the Moon Door again and Tyrion watched as she moved. Her hips swayed with a little more emphasis than they had when they'd been in the company of her aunt, and as he took in her slender form his thoughts began to drift. He thought of undressing her by candlelight. Of trailing her body with the most hungered of kisses.

_Except she's only fifteen, _he thought, pulling himself back to the present.

"Tell me, Lord Tyrion," Alayne began after a long silence, "What is the world like?"

Confused, he asked, "The world?"

"I hear it's filled with beautiful places, like Dorne and the High Gardens."

"Have you... never left the Vale, my lady?"

She stopped when she was on the opposite side of the Moon Door. "No," she glanced across at him, "Lady Lysa feels that it's safer if Robert and I remain within the walls of the Eyrie."

"That's a shame," he said. _What kind of woman would keep her children from seeing anything other stone walls?_

Alayne began walking again, coming around the other side of the Moon Door. "My Aunt would see you fly for what you're being accused of."

"And... what about you?" he asked as she sat down on the stone seat nearest him.

Taking two cautious steps towards her, he stopped. "What is it you want, my lady? Do you want to see me die?"

"I... want what Lady Lysa and Lord Baelish deny me." Her eyes met his then and a sweet smile curved her lips. Gone was the veil of the hard-hearted woman she'd presented her aunt with.

Taking a few slower steps, Tyrion moved closer to her. "And, what is that?"

"To see beyond these walls."

"And you think that I of all people can help make that happen?"

Alayne shrugged and arched an eyebrow, "Can't you?"

"You'll have to forgive me, my lady, but if I'm not mistaken your auntwants me executed."

She searched his eyes, and it made him nervous. "Did you do it?"

Tyrion let out a breath and shook his head. "I'm many things, but a child killer is not one of them."

She smiled, and it confused him further.

"And I'm not the naive child Lord Baelish and Lady Lysa think I am," Alayne said, "There are those who were staunchly loyal to my father who are loyal to me. Those who tell me hushed secrets and other matters I'm repeatedly told I am too young to be privy to."

_Lady Lysa again. Why not 'my mother'? _"Matters? Such as what?"

Her gaze fell to her lap. "Such as... their roles in my father's death."

"By the gods..."

Alayne lifted her head then, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "Such as... the truth of who I really am."

Tyrion's brow creased with a frown, "And... who are you, if not Alayne Arryn?"

The tears fell free then, streaking the young woman's pale cheeks. "I am... Sansa Stark," she whispered.

Tyrion froze and Alayne looked away from him, as if resigned to the disbelief she knew was within him.

But the resemblance between she and Catelyn was too strong to deny. _She looks so much like her mother. _And so, Tyrion stepped closer still, hooking his finger under Alayne's chin. He drew her gaze to his, and he felt his heart clench at the sadness in the young woman's eyes. "Daughter of Eddard and-"

"-Catelyn Stark of Winterfel," Alayne added, her voice just barely above a whisper.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Wicked Game - 2/?  
**Author:** Demelza  
**Disclaimer:** Game of Thrones and its characters belong to GRRM and HBO. I'm just borrowing them here for a little while. No infringements of any copyrights are intended.  
**Genre:** AU  
**Pairing:** Tyrion/Sansa  
**Rating:** O15  
**Warnings:** Not in this chapter  
**Summary:** A 'what if' story revolving around the idea that Sansa was stolen by her aunt when she was a baby and raised in the Vale as Alayne Arryn.  
**Author's Note:** Beta'd by me. Mistakes are mine. *g*

A lone tear streaked the young woman's cheek, and Tyrion gently brushed it away with his thumb. _Sansa Stark._ She was Sansa, daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark whom everyone had long believed had succumbed to death in the short few hours after her birth.

"You, you must help me," she whispered, causing his breath to hitch. "I do not belong here, Lord Tyrion. These walls are not my home, they are my prison."

"Tell me," he started, pausing only to clear his throat, "Tell me how I can help, and I will."

She hesitated, holding his gaze. "Do you promise?"

"You saved me from quick judgment for a crime I was accused of but did not commit; anything you will ask of me, I will do."

"No," she said, "You owe me no debt, my Lord. It is I who will owe you."

He took hold of her hands, and noticed that they, that she, trembled terribly. "Be that as it may, let me help you."

"Take my hands in yours before the Septon," Sansa began, "And let us share vows before the Seven."

Tyrion's breath caught then and he pulled away from her. "N-No. That I cannot do."

"Are you… you are already betrothed?"

He hung his head, "No, but I had a wife at a very young age." He looked up at her, "We were drunk. Foolish. And it ended in humility and… and far worse, for her."

"I'm sorry it did," Sansa said, "But my Lord, please, you are my only hope in this situation."

She went to reach for him, but he took a step backwards. "There are other men… men who are… are braver… taller…"

"None, Lord Baelish tells me, are as clever as you. Who has the strength and conviction to stand by all that he holds dear and true to him."

Tyrion wanted so urgently to help her. To be the valiant knight she was so desperate to have come save her. But the man she deserved was the likes of Renly Baratheon or Ser Loras Tyrell, not him. Never him.

It was cowardly of him, but the fear of his father's wrath and what he would have his men do to her caused him to take a further two steps back from her. "I'm sorry, my Lady," he said, guilt rushing through him at the sight of her tear-stricken, red cheeks. "I… _cannot_ marry you."

The young woman's lower lip quivered, but then her face froze and she stared back at him. "I will have a guard escort you to your chamber."

"You won't… cast me into the dungeon?" he asked, having expected such reception from her aunt.

"I am not Lady Lysa," she stated, rising to her feet with defiance. She excused herself, and as she walked past him he could almost hear Cersei's cruel laughter in the back of his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath until Sansa was past him. All he felt inside was cowardice and guilt. _And that's all you deserve to feel, you pathetic excuse for a man, _he berated himself.

~ \ / ~

Dinner that evening was held in relative silence, with Sansa playing host as Alayne Arryn to her mother alone. She listened on as her mother spoke of her "cousins", her brothers Bran, Rickon and Robb, and her younger sister, Arya, who had journeyed with her father to King's Landing, where she was set to marry the prince, Joffrey Baratheon, when she had come of age.

Sansa herself had never met the boy prince, but talk of his penchant for unkindness had reached even the Eerie, and she longed to take her mother's hand and plead that she not allow the marriage to go ahead. But her life was Alayne. That's all it would ever be, lest she met someone as clever-witted and famed as Tyrion. It had been foolish, she realized now, to have asked his hand in marriage like she had – but the truth was, she was desperate. She could no longer pretend to be the daughter of a crazed woman who had stolen her in the small hours after her birth. That was their lie. _Not hers_.

"You have barely spoken, nor eaten," her mother remarked, and Sansa painfully lifted her gaze to Lady Catelyn's.

"My apologies," she said, "I have not meant to be such a disengaged host. Mother will return tomorrow," she said, hating that she even _had _to utter that word that belonged to Catelyn Stark instead. "She will oversee the judgment of your p."

Catelyn inclined her head with thanks, poked her food with her fork, before finally returning her attention to the daughter she didn't realize she was within an arm's reach of—the thought of which pained Sansa all the more. "When you asked for the room alone with _my prisoner, _what did you speak to him about?"

She so easily wanted to let her confession spill out. But since her father's death she feared exactly what Lady Lysa and Petyr were capable of.

Instead of the complete truth, she let a half-truth tumble from her lips instead: "I wanted to speak with him in private counsel to see what he had to say about the attempt on my young cousin's life."

"And did you believe his lies?"

She lifted her goblet of wine, held it before her mouth. Nearly everyone in her life had lied to her since she was a babe, and he had been more truthful with her than anyone she'd ever met before. Even those who confirmed her suspicions of her true heritage had lied for a great length of time before she confronted them, but he had been different.

Realizing her mother still waited for an answer, she finally said, "Not one," before taking a sip of the wine.

Soon afterwards, Catelyn excused herself to retire early to bed after such a treacherous journey, and Sansa wandered the halls just to be alone with her thoughts.

She stood looking out over the dark lands about the Eerie when a guard approached.

"M'lady," he said, breathless, "Your presence has been requested."

"Has Lady—my mother, returned?" she asked, walking in-step with the guard as he led her down the corridor.

"No, m'lady, the Septon asks for you."

"The Septon? Whatever for?"

"A matter to do with the Seven I s'pose, m'lady," he said, leading her down one corridor after another.

Finally they arrived outside one of the guest chambers where two guards stood at full-attention at each side of the door. "Is this where you put Lady Catelyn?" she asked, looking at each of the guards in return. They stood to attention, saying nothing, and the guard that had brought her there merely unlocked the door for her.

Perplexed, Sansa turned the handle and pushed the door open. Inside, she saw the Septon with his back to her, and when he turned, the figure before him leaned to see who had arrived, and she saw that it was Lord Tyrion.

"We must be quick," Tyrion said, "If your request still stands, my Lady."

Sansa stepped inside the chambers, her gaze locked on Tyrion's, while the guard pulled the door closed behind her.

She tried to find words, "H-How did you…? And the Septon…?"

"I am indebted to them," Tyrion said, "For all the gold I had on me. And the Septon, he is a man of faith…"

"And a man who has a great sin to atone for," the Septon added. "I am truly sorry, Lady Stark, for having been party to your moth—to Lady Lysa's lies all these years."

Sansa looked to the Septon, "It was not your doing, but hers," she said. She stopped before Tyrion then, saying, "And you, my Lord, do not have to do this."

"No. But if my hand in marriage secures you away from Lady Lysa and Petyr Baelish's grasp, then it is yours, my Lady."

Tears welled in her eyes, "Thank you, my Lord."

"Tyrion," he said, smiling. "We will be husband and wife from this day."

A warm smile curved Sansa's lips, and as Tyrion presented a gold blanket he took for a cloak, she crouched before him so he could wrap it around their shoulders. They stood before the Septon then, listening to and reciting the vows before the Seven. When it came time to share their kiss, Sansa cupped Tyrion's face as she bent over and tenderly captured her mouth with his. This was real, she realized in that moment. She was finally going to be free. And it was all thanks to her Lord husband, Tyrion.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Wicked Game - 3/?  
**Author:** Demelza  
**Disclaimer:** Game of Thrones and its characters belong to GRRM and HBO. I'm just borrowing them here for a little while. No infringements of any copyrights are intended.  
**Genre:** AU  
**Pairing:** Tyrion/Sansa  
**Rating:** O15  
**Warnings:** Sex  
**Summary:** A 'what if' story revolving around the idea that Sansa was stolen by her aunt when she was a baby and raised in the Vale as Alayne Arryn.  
**Author's Note:** Beta'd by me. Mistakes are mine. *g*

After the Septon left, Tyrion turned to look at his young bride. Her smile was warm and inviting, her eyes filled with unfettered honesty. "To be truthful, my Lady, I did not think much further than the Septon."

"Well," Sansa said, glancing towards his narrow bed. "Tonight we shall join together as man and wife."

"Not before a bath, I hope…" She turned back to him, and he smiled up at her. "You deserve a clean husband with whom to share your bed," he said.

She returned his smile with one of her own, "I will have my handmaidens draw us a bath."

"Thank you, my Lady... wait, _us_? You want to bathe with me?"

"Unless you would rather wait until we share my bed to see me...?"

"N-No, I mean uh..." Tyrion stammered, feeling his cheeks burn a little. "I was merely taken by surprise at my lady's words."

"Sansa," she asked, "Would you… call me Sansa?"

"Of course," he smiled, gently squeezing her hand.

"Now, for that bath," Sansa said, returning his gentle squeeze with one of her own. "Let me call my handmaidens to attend to us."

As she stepped away from him, her hand lingered in his until, when their fingertips touched, she glanced back at him with a smile of heartfelt thanks. He just hoped to the Seven he would be able to do right by her, and not lose his life and fail yet another bride.

~ \ / ~

As the handmaidens filled the large wooden tub with the last of their pails of water, Tyrion glanced about the belongings in Sansa's room. Her dresser was adorned with various knickknacks, perfumes and other items commonly found in the rooms of Ladies at Casterly Rock and King's Landing, but one item that particularly stuck out was a raggedy looking wooden doll.

"When I was five, my mother—my real mother, she brought this doll with her from Winterfell as a gift from her and my father. Of everything in this room, it holds the most value to me."

Tyrion turned and glanced up at Sansa. He could see from the way she swallowed that she was fighting back a fresh round of tears, but then she returned his gaze and smiled warmly at him. He couldn't help but return her smile.

Then, the two handmaidens who had been filling the tub came out into the bed chamber. "M'lady," the shorter of the two said, her brunette hair tied back in a tight bun, "The bath is ready. Shall I stay and help you out of your dress?"

"Yes, thank you," Sansa said with a nod. "Lucinda," she said to the second handmaiden, "Will you help my Lord husband with his garments?"

Tyrion's gaze didn't falter from Sansa's as Lucinda, the taller blonde handmaiden came over to him.

The two women helped them out of their main garments, and when they were each in their undergarments – Sansa in a chemise, Tyrion in only his long tunic – she said, "That will be fine, thank you both," to her handmaidens.

"We'll wash and return these by morning," the blonde handmaiden said of their clothes.

Just as the two women reached the door to the chambers, Sansa spoke again, asking, "Do I still have your vow of loyalty?"

Both looked over their shoulders at her. Without skipping a beat they said, "You do, m'lady."

"Thank you. And please have the guard lock the door and let us not be disturbed."

They left, and when the door closed behind them, Tyrion turned his attention back to Sansa who was watching him with a small smile.

"My Lady...?"

"I'm just wondering..."

Tyrion looked down at himself for a beat, before looking back at Sansa. "If you made the wrong decision?"

"No," she giggled, "If you're a bed hog."

It was Tyrion's turn to chuckle, "Not that I'm aware. But I guess we shall see."

"Yes. Or perhaps we will find that I am one?"

It was nerves. For them both.

But however nervous Sansa was, she only let it show in small bursts before finding the inner strength to overcome it.

"Shall we…?" she soon asked, inclining her head towards the bath in the nearby room.

Tyrion reached up his hand and took hold of Sansa's, "Let's," he replied.

Together they walked through to the other room where a great wooden tub of water lay at the centre in front of a grand fireplace. The smell of lavender and a mix of herbs greeted them, and before the tub Tyrion noticed that a footstool had been placed, no doubt specifically for him. As they stepped close to the tub, the warmth of the water and fire both reached his skin and he felt a flutter of butterflies in his stomach that he hadn't felt since… well, not for a very long time ago.

A lingering glance at Sansa told him she was feeling something similar to him.

After a beat, she eased her hand free from his and reached up to pull the lace free on her chemise. With one delicate pull the lace came free and the fabric of the garment parted just enough to show the crevice of her breasts and her taut abdomen.

In turn, Tyrion loosened the lace at the collar of his tunic, then Sansa stepped forward and, with a devilish smile curving her lips, helped him free himself of the garment. He helped her step out of hers then, and with their bodies laid bare before one another they stood there, eyes searching, memorizing, just to take each other in.

Soon he joked, "The water will soon grow cold, my Lady."

"So it will," she murmured, and she took hold of his hand, and though mainly without his aid she stepped into the tub, then she kept hold of his hand as he ascended the footstool and climbed down into the tub with her.

The water rested just at Tyrion's chest, revealing the swollen bosom of his young bride. He knew that his father would greatly disagree with him marrying in secret once again, and not to a suitor of his choosing – not that he thought his father would ever arrange a union for him in this or any other lifetime they shared – but as he looked upon Sansa and saw the happy smile on her face, he honestly didn't care what his father was going to think of their union. No, this wasn't for love, but if it meant aiding a woman to escape the crazed aunt that had abducted her, and then reunite her with her true family? Then he was proud to have taken the plunge.

"My Lord, is something the matter?" Sansa soon asked.

Having realized he'd got lost in his own thoughts, Tyrion blinked and smiled at her. "I was just thinking about our situation," he said, "And what my father might think of it."

"Let's worry about all that later," she softly replied, reaching for the nearby sponge that sat on a small round table nearby. The water dripped from her breasts, the fire's light caressing them the same gentle way he looked forward to doing. She turned back to him, caught his fallen gaze and lightly bit her lower lip with a shy smile.

Tyrion glanced up at her, having realized his gaze was wandering, and smiled again. "May I…?" he asked, extending his hand to her.

She handed the sponge to him, and as he moved towards her, slipping between her legs, he dipped the sponge in the water and brought it up to her left shoulder. With his free hand, he took hold of hers, then tenderly washed her arm from her shoulder to her elbow, her wrist and fingers, then back up the underside of her arm. When he reached her armpit, she giggled, her other hand splashing hard in the water. Tyrion laughed with her, brushing the sponge across her collarbone, to her other arm, and washing it too. This time as he reached her underarm she didn't giggle, she kept her gaze locked on his, faltering to his lips only when he brought the sponge around her breast, to her nipple, down to the crevice between her breasts, then as he tenderly washed the other.

"You've… done this before?" she asked, her voice soft.

"I uh… I am the pervert," he murmured, taking the sponge across the top of her breasts in a slow, delicate movement.

Sansa leaned her head to the side, a soft moan rumbling in her throat.

Tyrion brought the sponge to her neck then, leaning his head to the same side as hers, and he moved the sponge in slow, tender movements, watching as the water ran down her throat, to her collarbone, and down the crevice between her rising and falling breasts.

"Your turn," she whispered, opening her eyes to his.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, but brought the sponge down her neck, shoulder, then her arm and finally to her hand.

"Turn around," Sansa instructed, and he did as he was bid. She moved in behind him, her legs going around him and tangling with his legs.

She brought the sponge to the back of his neck, moving the sponge in circles down the right side of his back then back up the left. He'd been traveling for days, and it had been even longer since he'd had a woman's touch, so much so that he could already feel the warmth settling in his groin.

"Tell me of Casterly Rock," she implored. "What was it like growing up there?"

"It's a beautiful place," he said as she ran the sponge back down his spine. "Located high up in the clouds, filled with wonderful gardens and the kinds of food you could only imagine. As to growing up there... I think, my Lady, that that is best kept for another day. If you wouldn't mind, that is?"

"No, I wouldn't mind at all," Sansa said, and she began to wash his right arm then, along the topside, then back along the underside just as he had done with her. Then she washed his left arm in the same, tender manner.

She stopped to reach for a bowl with which she used to scoop the water and drain it over his head to wash his hair. The feel of the water running down Tyrion's neck sent a shiver through him, and when Sansa worked her hands through his hair, the action stirred the lavender and other scents around them.

Finally she set the bowl back on the table, then she reached around him with her left hand to wash his torso with deliberately slow, circular movements, and he could feel her plump breasts press against the top of his back. The feeling of her body so close to his did things to him, but he tried to focus on her touch. It was gentle, perhaps even well practiced, but he let the thought disappear. Anyone she'd been with previously was like the women he himself had spent his nights with: ghosts of their past.

"Tyrion," Sansa began then.

"Mmm, Sansa?" He let his eyes drift shut, the motion of the sponge going lower, to his abdomen.

She pressed a kiss to his neck, surprising him, "I've finished," she whispered.

Tyrion opened his eyes, taking the moment to take a low breath before placing his hands on both sides of the tub and pulling himself to his feet. He turned around, and Sansa sat there, the sponge now floating free.

Suddenly she immersed herself backwards in the water before coming back up and taking a gasp of air.

His heart raced as he watched the water run down her face and neck to her heaving breasts.

"I hope you are not leaving me just yet," Sansa murmured, her hands going to Tyrion's. She drew him back to her and he knelt before her.

"We could retire to the bed, where's it's—" he was saying, but she leaned forward, cupping the back of his head, and pulled him into a hungered kiss. Whatever he had intended to say next vanished from mind, as did all traces of any other thoughts.

His new bride tasted of wine, and when the kiss ended all he wanted to do was taste her again.

"Patience is sadly not a virtue of mine," she murmured.

He shrugged, teasing her lips with his, "Patience is overrated."

He captured her mouth with his then. The kiss was deep, passionate, and when he lowered his right hand to her breast and squeezed, Sansa moaned into his mouth. He smiled, slowing their kisses into synchronisation with the way he teased and caressed her breast.

She broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, "Tyrion_…_"

She kissed him again, desperate, impatient, and he slipped his hand down her stomach until he reached her mound. With tender caresses, he placed his index finger against her clit and began forming circular motions there. Her body tensed and she groaned into his mouth, before parting from their kiss.

He watched her face contort a little with each caress, with every circular, and up and down movement against her clit. Just seeing her enjoyment, her bliss, made him crave her. Want to be deep within her.

And when she groaned a mumbled, "_Fuck" _he wasn't sure he could wait any longer.

"I want you, Sansa..." Tyrion said, eyes searching hers.

"And I want you," Sansa whispered, and she moved backwards in the tub until she was against the curved edge, her legs up and bent at the knee, inviting him in.

He moved into position with her, his hands cupping his wife's face as he pressed a kiss to her lips once more. She slipped her hands down into the water, where she took hold of his cock – much to his delight – and held him as he guided himself to her opening. He watched her expression as he pushed slowly into her. Her eyes fluttered shut, and a low moan escaped from her lips.

With their bodies in perfect position, Tyrion started his thrusts slowly; in, then out, and over again.

Sharp intakes of air. Throaty groans. Soft, inescapable moans.

Sansa began to tighten and loosen herself around Tyrion with each of his thrusts.

They'd found a near-perfect rhythm, and they moved with desperation and passion both. Wanting urgently to be filled with the other.

They continued like that for a while, their bodies moving as one, each of them grunting and moaning, but it was when he began to feel her tighten around him that he knew she was getting closer to coming. The truth was, he was too. But he kept going, kept thrusting, he kept riding this out with her.

But then it became too much, and she could barely hold back. "Oh, gods… _Tyrion_," Sansa whispered, her breath catching with one gasp, then another. Her thighs began to quiver, and she was gone. "Tyrion!" she cried out, half-near collapsing against him.

He could feel her pulsating against him, and that's when he decided this was enough. He couldn't hold out any longer. And he let go with a guttural groan, releasing himself within her. "Fuck… Sansa… _gods_…" he gasped, trying desperately to find his breath, to form some sense of coherency. His brain was fried though. More than that, he wanted more. He wanted to spend every minute of the rest of this night pleasuring her.

But did she? Maybe this was all she wanted? All she'd need. It was, after all, all the gods needed to accept their vows in their holy books, or wherever the fuck they stored them.

They sat there for a while, maybe a minute or so, when Sansa lifted her head and caressed Tyrion's cheek. "Husband," she murmured, a tear streaking her cheek.

"Did I hurt you?" he worried, placing his hand over hers. "Please tell me if I did."

"No, don't you see?" she whispered, smiling, "_You're saving me._"


End file.
